


Ungodly Filthy

by StarkRogers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Copyright: This is an original work of fiction. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, making this piece of work legally mine. You may not reproduce or publish this work on any site or in any journal or any other form of media without my permission. </p><p> </p><p>Holmes and Watson find themselves in a ditch while avoiding some violent suspects. Holmes is... distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ungodly Filthy

Watson was laying on top of Holmes, behind a row of rather prickly bushes, in a ditch near the Thames. He had been unable to protest the hiding spot as Holmes threw them through the bushes without any warning. Admittedly, it seemed to have thrown off their pursuers for the moment. And thankfully the rain that had made such a mess of the evening's investigation had finally stopped.

Holmes lay beneath Watson, and he found himself musing about their current positions. The doctor was always meticulous in his dress, and had worn for this excursion a tall-collared shirt. Holmes found himself quite incapable of looking at much else beyond the line where Watson's neck met with his starched collar - and this was due almost entirely to the fact that Watson was pressed against his body. A leaf on Watson's jacket provided an excuse for him to touch the doctor's collar.

"What are you doing, Holmes?" Watson whispered, looked down for a moment, confusion on his shadowed face.

"You had an errant leaf on your collar. I was simply removing it," replied Holmes, in what he hoped was a calm voice. Watson quirked an eyebrow, looking back up towards the bushes above them and trying to listen.

"Is it a clue related to the case?" Watson asked with his usual dry wit. They were lying in a wet, filthy ditch, covered in leaves and twigs and mud; this was hardly the place for such nonsense.

Holmes made an odd face, bordering on pained, still distracted by the heat coming from Watson's body, and his smell, and how the doctor was slowly sipping down further onto him due to the mud. He failed to note the sarcasm in Watson's voice, for he was trying to talk down the growing bulge in his trousers.

"Erm, that would be unlikely," Holmes said, shifting a bit in the soggy dirt.

Watson looked down suspiciously at the detective, but he could see nothing. Deciding that it was just his imagination, he looked back up over the rim of the ditch, trying to determine if their targets were coming back in their direction.

"Holmes, have they completely departed? I'm afraid I've lost sight of them..."

"I cannot say Watson. I've been rather distracted."

Watson once again looked down, for what felt like the fifth time, an exasperated expression on his face.

"By what, exactly? A leaf on my collar? Surely it wasn't that engrossing."

"No, certainly not the leaf."

"What then?" Watson asked, annoyance heavy in his voice.

Holmes decided now was an excellent time to change the subject. His mental distractions were proving unhelpful, as was attempting to become one with the side of the bank to prevent Watson's hips from contacting his own.

"Nothing. In my current position, I am incapable of watching the street for signs of our pursuers." Holmes said, hoping that if he just kept talking, things would go away on their own.

Watson glanced down yet again, but this time it was in apology.

"Oh. Sorry." He began to move, but Holmes reached up and stopped him, muddy hands around his shoulders.

"I didn't say to move."

Watson 's face fell into confusion once more.

"Holmes, is there some kind of reason you need me to be -"

"I have excellent hearing Watson, as you well know. I will hear if our pursuers are heading this way again. It would be unwise to, ah, alert them of our presence prematurely."

Watson shook his head and sighed, deciding he'd better keep a look out on the darkening path above them just in case. He trusted Homes enough to let little things like this go.

Holmes finally found the sight of Watson's neck to be too tempting. He ran a hand along it, leaving a trail of dirt along the very top of Watson's ridiculously tall collar. Watson looked down yet again and this time, it was in surprise.

"Holmes!" The detective reached up and silenced Watson's lips with a muddy finger. Watson immediately wiped it of on his sleeve, his mustache bristling with indignity. "What on Earth has gotten into you?" he hissed.

The mud seeping through the back of Holmes' clothes was cold, and Watson was warm, and the doctor had finally slipped down enough due to his thrashing to feel Holmes' erection. Watson froze, but now Holmes was working at his vest buttons.

"Good God man, you can't mean to do this now, we're on a case, not to mention we are laying in mud," Watson hissed again. Holmes seemed nonplussed by this revelation.

"Now that we have a firm grasp of the obvious, Watson, might I ask for your assistance with this? Just, lift yourself slightly… yes, there, that works quite well."

Watson sighed and complied, shaking his head as Holmes pulled his shirt out of his pants and undid the last of the buttons. He moaned as Holmes drew a hot breath down his exposed neck and upper chest. The detective reached up to grasp Watson's waist with his hands, and the doctor jumped; Holmes' hands were cold from mud and water, eliciting a shiver than travelled from Watson's scalp to the base of his spine. He groaned as Holmes drew his hands around his stomach, spreading the grime and eliciting another shudder from the doctor.

Watson retained his death grip on the bank as the detective's mouth traced along his nipples, which stood up hard in the chill left behind as Holmes' hot tongue left his skin bare and wet to the cold night air. Meanwhile, an expert hand teased Watson through his trousers, taunting him to grow painfully hard in the confines of his clothing. Watson felt a heat spreading in his stomach, rising through his chest and into his brain.

Watson couldn't take it any more. He reached down with one hand and messily tried to unbutton Homes' shirt. Failing, he simply ripped it upwards out of the detective's pants in desperation, which made Holmes' breath catch in his throat. Watson spread his equally dirty hand over Holmes stomach, eliciting much the same response as he'd given prior. Holmes' stomach tightened immediately and he moaned, raising his hips as Watson's fingers pressed around his side and into his lower back. Watson peppered kisses down Holmes' neck and partially exposed chest, and Holmes finally released him from his imprisoning trousers.

"I don't see how we can possibly achieve this in such conditions," said Watson breathlessly, but Holmes provided the answer, lifting his hips and pulling down his trousers to his knees, all while attempting to keep his bottom out of the mud. He was breathless with desperation now; and Watson grabbed him and lifted his hips to waist level, laying Holmes' legs over his shoulders. He wiped his hand on Holmes' chest to clean it off as much as possible, and then after only two fingers, he sheathed himself with a groan. Holmes was half bent against the bank and he reached up, taking two fistfuls of grass and damp earth to steady himself, moaning as Watson thrusted ever deeper into him. Watson's dirty hands drew mindless paths all over Holmes' stomach and chest, then his thighs, and all the while he was pounding away with Holmes' dirty trousers pressing against his own bare chest. Holmes went to attend to himself but his hands were too filthy and there wasn't much left on him that was not covered in mud and rainwater, so Watson obliged him since he'd managed to get one hand miraculously clean and they both came to climax in the dirty ditch.

"I suppose now you can't complain about my lack of hygiene anymore, can you?" said Holmes, hitching up his trousers.

"Oh I most decidedly can, Holmes. And the first thing I'm going to demand when we get back is a long, hot bath!"


End file.
